


Darcy Recounts

by izzydarchester



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzydarchester/pseuds/izzydarchester
Summary: Selections of the story from Darcy's perspective, beginning right before he encounters Elizabeth at Pemberley - Inspired by the book, the 2005 adaptation, and the 1995 adaptation. The story will continue on after the events of the book. On going - Rating is subject to change.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 15
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

The thunder clapped heavily in his ear. His clothes stuck to him, soaked and dripping onto the stone floor; he hardly had the attention for it. He could not tell if the shiver running down his spine was his body's natural reaction to the chilling wind that cut through him, or if it was induced by the intense glare that came from the most alluring creature he had ever encountered as she stood meekly before him. She was surprised to see him, jumping away from the wall she sought purchase against when she noticed him standing fixed to his place. She had hardly lowered into a short, polite curtsy before he began passionately, “Miss Elizabeth, I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer.” He swallowed hastily and continued. “These past months have been a torment. I came to Rosings with the single object of seeing you – I had to see you...” he heard his voice trail off, and yet his lips still formed words. The low hum that now came from him was unintelligible.

In front of him, her face contorted from one expression to the next – confusion, then shock, and then... a smile peeked from the corner of her mouth. “You have bewitched me body and soul. I love you, Elizabeth. I never wished to be parted from you from this day on. Please do me the honor of accepting my hand – marry me, Elizabeth.” They stood inches apart suddenly. His hand rose slowly to frame her face, the other wrapping gently around her waist. She gazed back at him reverently, a look of gentle sweetness that illuminated her eyes. Her hands rested delicately on his shoulders as she reached up to whisper softly against his ear, “I will.”

Just as he was a breath away from her kiss, he awoke in a cold sweat.

Another morning dawned on a restless night, but Darcy could hardly say he was not by now accustomed to it. Elizabeth had been at the forefront of his dreams over the last pain-staking months and tonight was no different. Though this time, he thought he almost felt her lips touch his sweetly just as he was jolted into consciousness. How cruel could one's own imagination be? Of course, his proposal had not gone so wonderfully in real life as it had in his dream; she had rejected him point blank. And he deserved it, he knew. How could he expect to be responded to with fervor when he so blatantly insulted her? And he actually thought he was doing justice by relating the difficulty of his situation.

He would not have this newfound self-awareness had she not called attention to what he would not see – his arrogance and disdain were offensive enough traits and, because he absolutely _had_ to continue to insult her by defending his manner of offering, to that arrogance and disdain he only added conceit. If he had any glimmer of hope at all, it was lost when he began his abominable speech. How had he not seen her disapproval before? True, he had noticed her apprehension toward him, but being of his rank and position...

No, there he caught himself again - his arrogance in assuming she would be honored by his offer, that she would be flattered by a man of his station offering to a girl so beneath him. But in truth, he now believed, he could not be more beneath her. Over and over again, he chastised himself for such poor execution, for single-handedly ruining any chance of winning happiness with her at his side. It had been hard to go on day by day, wanting her, needing her. But now that one chance had been wasted away, and he was unsure how much more his heart could bear.

His anxieties strained further when he remembered his letter. Good God, that letter! The look on her face when she took it from his hand was enough to break his heart. He did not know if she would truly read it and if she did, he was even more unsure of what she would then think of him if she did at all. But in this state of desperation, the sun slowly beginning to peek over the distant horizon, he hoped she had read it and regarded him in some brighter light than she had before. He meditated softly, silently praying she was finding more peace in life than he was, then dressed himself in preparation to depart, leaving the rest of his party behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A musical suggestion to go along with this reading:  
> Le tombeau de Couperin, M. 68: No. 1, Prelude - Maurice Ravel

There was no better retreat than Pemberley Park. In truth, there was no other escape in the world that Darcy preferred to his country home, nestled in the valley of two rolling peaks and its wilderness situated happily about it. Though he felt some guilt in leaving his sister behind with the rest of their party, he rejoiced in being so warmly welcomed by the perfect picture ahead of him. He paused atop the hill overlooking his property before kicking his horse to canter ahead. He approached the front of the house oblivious to the empty carriage that sat idly in the drive, only taking notice to it before dismounting, and handing the bridal to the awaiting stable boy, he turned to see a figure so strikingly familiar, he almost thought his heart had stopped beating altogether.

There she stood, her skirts fluttering in the gentle summer breeze, the ribbons of her bonnet untied and blowing freely. Their eyes met in an instant and he caught the flush of her cheeks before she instinctively turned away. He advanced immediately, his legs operating on their own accord to carry him to the one whom he felt such a passionate attachment to. She only turned to him again once his footsteps drew near, keeping her eyes down and away to avoid the unfamiliar look he was giving her. They met with pointed formality.

“Mr. Darcy, please allow me to apologize for importuning on your privacy,” she then started hastily, “I wouldn't ha- _we_ would not have dreamt of...” She paused, not knowing how to continue in her overwhelming embarrassment, but he calmly reassured her.

“Pray, do not trouble yourself; I had planned to arrive tomorrow, but rode ahead of my party on business with my steward.” He only hesitated at the thought of the true reason he rode ahead. Having her standing so close to him once more had his mind racing; it was hard to manage one coherent thought. She did not move to reply. She kept her gaze away, searching for any other thing to rest her eyes on besides his impossibly striking stare.

“I trust your parents are in good health,” he found himself saying.

“Yes, they are, thank you.”

“And your sisters?”

“They are in excellent health, sir.” Her thumbs made circles around each other as she kept her fingers laced in front of her. He wanted nothing more than to hold those hands, to soothe her of any discomfort she felt, though he knew the root of her discomfort was almost definitely in his sudden presence.

“How long have you been in this part of the country, Miss Bennet?”

“About two days, sir.”

“And where are you staying?”

“At the inn at Lambton.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” A straining pause ensued. Had he not been praying for another opportunity such as this, promising himself if the chance arose he would not stammer and loom about her as he had in their previous acquaintance? And now he stood with her, almost completely silent, giving her no outward inclination to continue conversation or that he was taking immense pleasure in her company. He only stood motionless, watching her face as her skin continued to flush pink, thinking to himself how simply wonderful it would be to gently graze that cheek with the pad of his finger.

After some moments, she explained she was in the country with her aunt and uncle and that they were just beyond with the housekeeper finishing their round about the garden. He offered her sanctuary in the house while she waited, but embarrassment would not leave her, and so she insisted she wait out on the lawn. He stood with her to wait as the elder couple made their return to the front of the house, lead by the gracious Mrs. Reynolds.

He introduced himself with as much politeness as he could demonstrate; praising Derbyshire with Mrs. Gardiner as it was mutually her home county, and conversing with Mr. Gardiner on their shared interest in fishing. Elizabeth took this time to finally look up at his face, watching him interact with her most beloved kin. She had never seen him act with such ease and politeness. He was everything a gentleman to the Gardiners and herself - even his countenance had taken on an essence of tranquility she had never detected. And what was the meaning of it? Of course, it was all for her. He had taken her words to heart, he had mulled over everything she had said to him over and over again in his thoughts. Every remark she had made tortured him to no end with no hope of reconciliation or relief. But now, he took this chance meeting as an opportunity for redemption.

As the head gardener of the estate approached them, he turned quietly to Mrs. Reynolds, suggesting they take the most advantageous tour of the park around the lake, then took his leave to return to the house to change out of his traveling clothes. He made haste up each staircase, taking them two at a time in his long stride. He knew he had ample time enough to make himself as presentable as he wished to be and meet them again if he did not waste a single moment. He had not even called for his valet and quickly changed without assistance, darting back down the halls as he finished the buttons of his coat and skipping down the stairs in his eagerness. A hand combed through his hair as he sped out of the entry, scanning the perimeter of the lake for a sign of their whereabouts. He spotted them, just making their approach to the halfway point at the other end of the lake. He would reach them faster if he took the opposite direction.

It was obvious Elizabeth had not expected to see him again, for as he advanced from the trees that hid his approach, she started at the sight of him, only recovering with her face turned away, her hands clutching her bonnet in front of her. How very strange it was to see her act so. His Elizabeth, who so rarely held back from speaking her fearless mind, was acting with timidity and shyness. When her eyes finally lifted to his, he was not met with their usual resilience, but was instead greeted with an insecurity he could not place. He knew she was struggling with composure, but from what? From pure hatred? No, he would have seen that apprehension from the first as he had when he handed her his letter. What was it that haunted her thoughts now? There was feeling in that look, he decided, that she had never bestowed on him before, though he could not place it, and yet there remained that sparkle, that hint of mischief in her eye that always glimmered after a witty remark or when a smile could be seen peeking from her lips...

“I hope you are not displeased with Pemberley,” he said to her after formally greeting the party once more.

“Indeed, I am not,” Elizabeth looked up to him then, as they fell into step in front of the others. “It is very beautiful, Mr. Darcy.”

“So you approve of it, then?”

“I doubt there would be many who would not approve.”

“But your good opinion is rarely bestowed, and therefore, more worth the earning.” He complimented her in such a tender tone she had never heard, a gentle smile on his face she had never seen. Her cheeks again began to flush, and she turned away. He had hardly heard her murmur in response a soft, “Thank you.”

They walked on toward the house, some moments not saying a word, but when they did venture an exchange, it was with the utmost politeness and, on his part, tenderness – even if she did not detect that effort at the very first. Though he would do anything to prove himself and change her opinion of him, he knew that like him, her opinion was not an easy one to sway; he would be lucky indeed to find that she had ceased to loathe him. But she responded to him so differently now, he could not place her feelings as he could before – no, he never could place her feelings. That assumption had led him to the very predicament he was in, he reminded himself.

They made it to the house ahead of the rest of their party; each with an avid passion for walking, their pace had been set at a considerably faster stride without their conscious attention to it, and they found themselves once again standing on the front lawn, their postures fixed straight and rigid as their minds scrambled for how to behave around the other. Darcy again inquired if she wanted to take rest in the house, to which she again politely refused, and once more they were ensconced in their silence. Quiet as they were, Elizabeth found he would not stop looking for her eyes; in his she saw his desire to speak, of what she did not know, but the look of them was unmistakeable. His lips parted for a moment as he contemplated what he wanted to say, her eyes riveting to them unconsciously. He thought to himself, as he drank in her sight, that he had never beheld anything more beautiful than her picture in that moment. She stood as she did before; her skirts fluttering, the shortest tendrils of her hair whisking around her face, and her eyes staring up at him – bright with exercise and curiosity. His heart raced against his chest, beating wildly, his thoughts clouded. All of his entire world's focus was on her, and she glowed gloriously in the summer sun.


	3. Chapter 3

The image never left his mind; not after Elizabeth and the Gardiners had departed (and he would not let them leave without his invitation to dine at Pemberley the next day), not after he had greeted his sister and the Bingleys well into the evening, and not after he had retired for the night to the sanctuary of his chambers. That image of her standing so sweetly on his lawn and looking at him with that singular expression resembled the materialization of a dream. And how demurely she presented herself! Whether she knew it or not, she only catered to Darcy's passionate admiration and she left him with an even deeper wanting of her company. Her eyes wide and doe-like as she looked up to him after he complimented her; he had never seen her so. How the sun danced in her hair on the lawn, the shimmering contrasts of its dark, luscious color truly exposed in mid-day's light, and how perfectly well she looked altogether, despite that curious expression he could not place. What was he to do? How do you save a hopeless man from a love he could not hope to achieve?

Darcy loomed over the mantle of his fireplace, pacing for a few moments, then returning. Sleep, he knew, would not come easy. No, her image would remain in his mind's eye, keeping his thoughts racing, his heart pounding. Tomorrow was a chance he could only have dreamed of and she had to agreed to his invitation with such a happy expression, he almost allowed himself to hope a little more. Another chance to show her he was no longer what he was, another chance to see her again in his home, another chance to make her smile at him the way she had when he handed her into her carriage. She had squeezed his fingers before lingering on their release, their eyes never breaking. He wanted to show her nothing but admiration, remedy all that he had done for that one little smile. Oh, he dared not hope this much; he could not bear it to build himself up too high. A second failure would be devastation. After seeing her again and on the fine cut grass of his front lawn, there could never be another woman in her place. Should he never marry her, he shall never marry. That was that, and Darcy had come to these terms decidedly. But he could not think about the very prospect of never having her. For now, he was happily occupied with the image in his head and the glass of wine that helped that image sink into his dreams.

* * *

“Your guests for the evening have arrived, sir,” Mrs. Reynolds snapped him out of his daydream. He turned away from Georgiana, who sat in front of him at the pianoforte. He could feel the color in his face draining, expressing outward distress rather than the pure excitement he felt. The others in the room had their eyes searchingly on him.

“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds.” His posture went straight and rigid as he watched the old housekeeper leave once more. With a side glance to Georgiana, he could see she understood his feelings. She gave him a small, but reassuring smile and stood to stand with him, her arm curling under his delicately. He remained unmoved, only lifting his arm enough for Georgiana to fit her’s through. His eyes remained on the door.

Had Georgiana not given his arm a knowing squeeze, he might not have remembered to stop holding his breath as the door reopened and Mrs. Reynolds returned leading Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, Elizabeth following after them with her hands clasped politely in front of her. Darcy immediately stepped forward, Georgiana followed diligently, and greeted them with a formal bow.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner,” he said, then turning and releasing his sister's arm, “Good evening, Miss Bennet.” Elizabeth curtsied with a contained grin that matched the one on Darcy's face.

“Mr. Darcy, thank you once more for your generous invitation,” she said.

“I thank you once more for so graciously accepting,” he could not help but smile now. “Please allow me to introduce to you my sister, Georgiana.” His sister stepped forward and they curtsied to one another.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Darcy.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Bennet,” Georgiana replied. “My brother has told me so much of you, I feel as if we are friends already.” Darcy looked to her sharply, noticing the two ladies seated had then looked to Georgiana wide-eyed.

“Oh, thank you,” Elizabeth said with a genuine smile. “Though I am sure your brother has perjured himself most profusely and exaggerated my qualities.”

“That could not be so; my brother tells the absolute truth, except perhaps he is a little too generous to me.”

“An ideal elder brother, then.”

“Oh, yes. I could not imagine a better or a kinder one.” They both looked to him then as he watched them with a most serene smile on his face. It was at this moment that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst joined them from the billiards room.

Mr. Bingley then reacquainted himself with Elizabeth and introduced himself to the Gardiners – Mr. Hurst had chosen to take an immediate seat after the general civilities and separate himself from the rest of the room. It was suggested after some time that they take a tour of the grounds before sitting for dinner and Darcy found himself conveniently paired with Elizabeth as they walked under twilight – his sister had taken the arms of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley and kept them at a comfortable distance ahead of them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner walking with Bingley just ahead of the ladies, and Mr. Hurst left back at the house, asleep in his arm chair.

He and Elizabeth walked considerably slower than the others, keeping behind the group ahead of them a comfortable distance, and it was in this semi-solitude that they began to converse more comfortably than they ever had before. They talked briefly of how gorgeous the day had been, of books they had read recently and their favorites, of which they had mutual titles. As he had known, she was an avid reader, eager to enrich her mind in all kinds of literature; as he had guessed, she loved visiting the country with her aunt and uncle and wanted to see more of the world outside the boundaries she had reached. She spoke of her kin with loyalty and absolute adoration, though she admitted they had plenty of their faults about them with a chuckle. Darcy laughed with her, relishing the sweet sound that broke from her lips; though he would never make her love him, he could give her his devoted friendship. He would be anything she wanted.

At dinner, she had been placed to his right and they continued much of their conversation during the meal, as well as keeping up with the conversations of the table. If they were obliged to pause conversation, Elizabeth would betray a moment of disappointment in her eye before glancing to the rest of the table and joining the majority. She would smile brightly when she turned back to him and carried on with great pleasure. She looked directly into his eyes when she spoke, listening intently to each response he gave and she continued to look at him curiously as she had the previous day, that mixture of emotion he was presently blind to. Her dark eyes of deep amber hardly strayed away from him; he could see somewhere in her gaze that she was measuring him and he hoped against his odds that she now had a more favorable view of his character. If only he could absolutely assure her how deeply she moved him, how he had memorized every word she had said to him and had come to humbly agree with her; could he but prove how fervently he loved her and would do anything to secure her happiness. He knew his train of thought was showing through his features; Elizabeth's smile began to fade as she checked over his countenance with quick eyes.

“Mr. Darcy, are you well?” she inquired in between statements.

“Quite well, I thank you,” Darcy insisted. “Pray, continue.” He took note that she hesitated, worrying her bottom lip as she glanced over him once more, then carried on. The small action had his lips forming a charming grin, one Elizabeth found suited him _very_ amiably. He thought it must be giving him away, that his outward display of perfect happiness was surely the thing to betray to Elizabeth his very present, very passionate love for her (if she hadn't already guessed he still had such feelings), but if it was, she showed no sign of apprehension, no hint of disgust or distaste – she was all loveliness and especially sweet towards him.

Her attention was stollen away after dinner when she walked arm-in-arm with his sister into the drawing room, having agreed to accompany Georgiana for a duet on the pianoforte. The party had situated itself about the room as the ladies prepared which piece they would perform. Darcy had just taken his seat at the end of a settee when his sister began to play. He had only ever heard Elizabeth play, never had he heard her sing, but as she took a breath, her chest rising elegantly, and he heard the first notes escape in her tone, he thought that perhaps he had never heard anything more beautiful. He stared openly at her as she sang in a soft, pure soprano that wrapped around his heart and filled his ears with such wonder. Whatever mind he had paid to his other guests was completely forgotten. All that existed for him in that moment was the music and Elizabeth. Her eyes followed the words along the page as she sang steadily, timing her breaths with the music, turning the page for Georgiana when the time came. She was perfect and he had no place ever believing otherwise.


	4. Chapter 4

“How very ill Eliza Bennet looked this evening,” Miss Bingley started on haughtily as she took her place next to her sister. Mr. Darcy had just re-entered after seeing Miss Bennet and the Gardiners to their carriage. It was not a surprise that she had hardly waited a moment after Elizabeth's departure to indulge in her criticisms, though it tired Darcy ruthlessly – the constant effort to put herself in his favor only served to push her further away from it, and her open dislike of Elizabeth Bennet did not benefit her cause. “She is grown so brown and corse; Louisa and I were just agreeing how we should hardly know her, wouldn't you agree, Darcy?”

“I noticed no great difference,” he replied, not looking away from the wine he poured himself. “She was, perhaps, a little tan, but that is to be expected when traveling in summer.”

“Oh, but I must confess I never saw any beauty in her,” Miss Bingley persisted. Darcy fought to prevent himself from rolling his eyes as he moved silently to the mantel, glancing momentarily to Mr. Bingley to express his growing frustration. His friend answered his glance with a sympathetic expression. “Her complexion holds no brilliancy, and her features are not at all handsome. In her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable.” Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst took great pleasure in their censure, snickering and conspiring together on their settee. Darcy knew he was being baited into agreeing with her, that she believed her opinion so high, it should influence his own. Could she be so blind to his obvious distaste of her petty insults? How incredibly childish it was to speak so, and equally vexing was the motive behind it all. He furrowed his brow as he struggled to stay silent. “I particularly remember, Mr. Darcy, your saying one night, ' _She_ a beauty! - I should as soon call her mother a wit.' But afterwards, she seemed to improve on you; dare I say, I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, resolutely. “Indeed, that was only when I first knew her, but it has been many months since I have considered her one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.” He turned then, having the great satisfaction of seeing the horrified look on Miss Bingley's face as he strode through the room and took his leave.

 _Insufferable woman!_ he thought as he seethed up the stairs. _Conceited, childish, loathsome woman – every word of her reproof, a reflection of her own jealousy and indulged self-confidence._ He reached his chamber, relieving himself of his cravat, coat and waistcoat. One window at the far end of the room was opened, a fire crackling softly on the hearth; the mixtures of the fire's musk and Pemberley's rich pines refreshed his senses. He inhaled deeply the fresh, untainted atmosphere as he dropped himself into his easy chair, leaning forward toward the blaze in front of him.

 _How poorly Miss Bingley calculated her efforts this evening,_ Darcy grinned to himself. _Her sentiments could not have been more opposite to mine._ Indeed, Elizabeth acquired a new shade of brilliance on her travels, but it had only served to compliment her complexion; her features, though he would admit not conventionally beautiful, were as handsome as they had ever been, if not more so when illuminated by the afternoon's sun or the fluttering flames of candlelight. And her “self-sufficiency”? Yes, she possessed that independence, but she was sensible, perfectly polite, and her wit was matched with equal intelligence – _her_ conversation kept him interested. She had not the regal elegance that Miss Bingley considered to make a woman admirable, but her elegance had its own regency, unlike that of the conventional, for was it not that look about her that drew him in from the first? She was so much her own person, his most beloved Elizabeth.

Oh, but she would never _be_ his. She had said once she did not love him, that she even despised him - those sentiments did not seem as very present as they were three months prior, but he could not so readily believe her opinion of him had improved. And yet, this evening, that intriguing look persisted, there was a closeness between them that was unmistakeable – had she not felt it? Was he imposing that energy upon her by assuming they had taken to such a transformation?

Her behavior when he escorted her to the Gardiners' carriage suggested otherwise. Their time for departure came and Darcy had offered his arm to Elizabeth as they made their way to the hall. There was no question that the gaze she bestowed upon him then was full of some sentiment of admiration. For one brief moment, they shared a look of reverence not lost on either party until Elizabeth smiled somewhat shyly and looked away.

“I must thank you, again, for allowing me to introduce you to my sister,” he murmured rather softly, feeling bereft of her gaze.

“I thank you for the introduction,” she replied, eyes cast down, though still smiling. “Miss Darcy is a very accomplished and sweet-natured girl; I would consider myself very fortunate to call her a friend.” They stopped by the carriage, waiting as Mr. Gardiner handed his wife inside.

“I hope our paths cross again very soon, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, his voice now very low as he reclaimed her gaze with feeling. She hung on one breath before replying, “As do I, Mr. Darcy.” Her hand was in his again, squeezing his fingers with an unmistakeable tenderness and she lingered once more as she climbed up the step into her seat.

“Good evening, Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner.” He nodded his head politely to both, and then with one last repressed look of hope, he bowed his head lower and said, “Good evening, Miss Elizabeth.” He could see in the darkness, by the dim light illuminating the passengers, that Elizabeth had turned to watch him as they drove off, her position unmoving as they disappeared behind the pines. That last look had snapped the only remaining string of resistance in him; he could no longer hold back the hope he now very dangerously harbored wholly. No, she had not gone through these last two days unmoved.

The increasing temptation was maddening; she was to leave this part of the country the day after tomorrow, and then when would he see her again? He had no business in Hertfordshire, it would be insupportable to write to her himself. What other choice did he have? Could he let her leave without renewing himself, without at least knowing where her feelings now stood? He made his silent resolution, knowing he absolutely could not.


	5. Chapter 5

There was no time wasted the next morning; Mr. Darcy rose early to breakfast alone, bade a brief good morning to his sister and guests when they all descended from their slumbers, and with his horse readily prepared on the drive, he was en route to Lambton before nine o'clock. He had doubt in his mind, for he could not allow himself to be ignorant of the inevitability that Elizabeth did not love him – no, he did not expect her love, but he hoped above all else that she at least thought better of him, that somehow he had shown himself to be a true gentleman in her eyes. Her's was the only opinion he held above all others. It pained him to go on in the world knowing that Miss Elizabeth Bennet still thought ill of him. The only person to whom he had ever felt any true attachment, and he had done her the most injustice – he was determined to tell her how absolutely right she was, and foremost, apologize for being everything but a gentleman. Should he renew his addresses, he was most likely to be refused again... but what if she did not turn him away? As vivid as the image of her rejection was the fantasy of her acceptance, smiling as she formed the word 'yes' upon her lips. He would not hesitate to then gather her to him, enclose her in his cradling arms, kiss her hair, then finally with great tenderness, he would kiss her full, flushed lips. The thought was too bittersweet; he had no right to expect anything more than a cool rejection, but he knew he had to tell her once and for all – he could not live with himself if he did not.

He came upon the inn, handing his horse to the waiting stablehand, and went in directly, asking after Miss Elizabeth Bennet. No words could do justice the pain of the knot tied tightly in his chest as he followed behind a servant, how dry his throat suddenly felt and the increased pounding of his heart only added to his discomfort. He dared to believe he had the slightest bit of a chance she thought well of him, perhaps even well enough to consider him -

“Excuse me, Miss,” the servant announced them as they entered the sitting room, interrupting his thoughts. Darcy bowed before he looked up to see his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth – cheeks furiously flushed, lips pursed shut, and tears pooling in her eyes.

“Forgive me, sir,” she began after the servant had disappeared, “I must find my aunt and uncle on business that cannot be delayed!” She started to move for the door.

“Good God; what is the matter?” Darcy could not help himself exclaiming as he took one long stride toward her – she was in absolute distress. “I would not wish to delay you a moment, but let the servant go and fetch them -” he hesitated before adding, “or let me go.”

“No, I must see to them -” she began to cry more, determined to move past him. Darcy took her arm and prevented her passage to the door.

“Please, I absolutely insist!” He led her to sit in a large chair by the window and allowed her a moment before asking, “In which direction did your aunt and uncle walk, Miss Bennet?”

“The church,” she breathed her reply. He left her side only a moment to see to the servant fetching Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and then he was urgently back by her side, pulling another chair close to her as he placed his hat on the end table, and without a thought, he took both her hands in his.

“You are not well. May I not call a doctor?” he asked, struggling to keep his overwhelming emotion out of his tone.

“No, thank you, sir,” Elizabeth sniffled a smiling reply, giving his hands a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I am well.”

“Is there not anything I can do for your present relief? A glass of wine; could I get you one?”

“No, sir, truly I am well, I am well.” She took the handkerchief he offered her after reluctantly releasing her hands. “I have only been distressed by some terrible news I have just received.” He watched her as she bravely composed herself, his gaze intense and, he thought surely, displayed his distress in seeing her thus. It was one of the most heartbreaking things he had ever witnessed; Elizabeth's squared little shoulders trembling as she breathed deeply to prevent more tears. She would not yet meet his gaze as she whispered, “Please, do forgive me.”

“Oh, no, Miss Bennet...” he assured her, trailing off, undecided how to continue. He remained silent. After another deep breath, she lifted her chin and matched his gaze with eyes overflowing.

“I've just had a letter from my sister, Jane. Our sister, Lydia, has run away... w-with Mr. Wickham.” Darcy let the name ring in his ears. It felt as if the blood in his veins ran cold, his emotions running wild in brazen hatred. Wickham was, yet again, compromising the lives of innocent people. Wickham, who single-handedly tried to bring shame upon him and everything he held dear, who had mistreated his sister so unforgivably... And now, his habits were repeating themselves, this time succeeding in disappearing with his prey. “She has no money, no connections... I fear she is lost forever.”

“But has anything been done to recover her?” The anger in Darcy's tone was not lost as he stood and began an agitated pace.

“They have been traced as far as London, but not beyond. My father has gone in search of them, and I expect my uncle will aid him in his efforts. But what could be done? I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man...” she trailed off, her voice weak. “How are they ever to be discovered?” Darcy looked to her then; her head hung and shoulders rounded, he gazed upon her in agony as she wept silently, hardly murmuring a sound. His anger almost completely forgotten for the moment, all he could do was watch. He could hardly bear it – oh, if he could only hold her just for a moment and calm her with soft hushes and gentle, soothing caresses. He would reach for her hands, lift a gentle finger to wipe away the tears from her cheek, and calmly as he could, entreat her that all would be well, for he would vow to put it all to right himself to just see her smile again – he would put it all to right himself even if their paths never crossed from that day on. It was too intolerable to think of, never again having the pleasure of being near her, looking into her eyes, touching her skin... but he struggled to repress that dreadful reality as he contemplated what to do next.

He related to her his regret that she would not return to his home that day to call on Georgiana, to which she insisted he apologize to his sister on her account for being unable to see her. With utmost apprehension, he insisted he had stayed too long and that she must desire his absence. Taking a low, lingering bow, he heard her soft voice strain to say, “Goodbye, Mr. Darcy.” He straightened to see her curtsy and took one last look into her eyes, hopefully conveying all he wished to express, before turning forcefully and exiting the room.

* * *

In a matter of two and a quarter hours after his departure from Lampton, Mr. Darcy had come to a calculated conclusion and had not wasted one moment in doing all that was necessary before he could away to London to set his plan in order. His hasty arrival back home had alarmed Georgiana (as he knew it would), and as she tailed him through the halls to his study, hardly keeping up with two skips to meet his one stride, she inquired, “What has happened that has brought you back so soon - and so agitated!” He had turned to her as he met his study threshold, his brows knit tightly together, his lip held in a peculiar scowl.

“I apologize for alarming you, Georgiana,” he said softly. “A very important matter has taken Miss Elizabeth away from Derbyshire this morning; I only met her as she was taking her leave -” he paused with a sharp exhale before continuing “- Georgiana, I must disappoint you again. There's an order of business that calls me back to London and I must see to it at once, but I shall not stay there a day longer than the matter requires. Will you forgive my absence once more, dear sister?”

“Of course, brother,” she replied, “but what could be the matter that must take you away? I have not seen you so since -” and there, she stopped herself before she could say more. Darcy then reached for her hand and encompassed it firmly in his.

“Do not worry yourself with memories we need not recount. All is well, Georgiana, I promise you... however, I must see to this matter, and I must away as soon as possible.”

Georgiana had waved to him as she always did when he set off yet again, though he could not find it in himself to reach out a hand to wave back or even look back in her direction as he sped toward London. He knew the days of travel ahead were going to be filled with horrid regret; if only he had not been too prideful in his personal matters, Wickham's character might have been known to general society, and Lydia Bennet might have still been at Longbourn, with her sisters... His poor, dear Elizabeth. He imagined her at Longbourn, attempting to dull the cries of her animated mother, who's nerves no doubt had endeavored too much a strain. Though she would be distraught herself, he knew she would take every charge she could to assure her family and ease their worry. It pained him to think of her thus, that she must go through the same experience he had a year and a half since with Georgiana, but in this case, Wickham had succeeded in stealing his prey away with him.

Mr. Darcy was aware of only one person who would willingly aid Wickham in such a dubious errand, and it was her residence he sought out when he first arrived in London.


	6. Chapter 6

_It is done_. It was not done in as much haste, nor with as much discrepancy as he had hoped for. Nonetheless, everything was - for the moment - resolved. Almost four weeks of anxieties put to rest in one morning. Mr. Darcy played his role as witness, and now, as he watched from the steps of a small London church, Wickham begrudgingly followed his new bride into their carriage as her girlish laughter pierced the air.

 _It is done_.

The wretch was made to face what he was due. Wickham would act as he always had, Darcy knew, but for now, he had been made to do what was right. There was comfort enough in that. Darcy took the most comfort in the fact that the Bennet family would be spared severe degradation, that perhaps this resolve would ease any pain caused by the situation. Of course, he thought only of one Bennet’s comfort. She was kept uninformed of his involvement in the affair, and he hoped that it would stay that way for as long as it could be helped. He knew of her curious mind; it was nonsensical to think it would always remain secret, but as he thought of what she might think of him, he could not stomach it. She would feel obligated to thank him, guilty that he should have been imposed upon, and she would put the weight of the whole ordeal all on her own square shoulders. He did not desire her gratitude, nor any shallow apologies. He wished only that she thought better of him, always. He could never stop loving her, but he had reprimanded himself time and time again; to expect her to return his passion was far too selfish of a desire. Particularly now, it would only result in deeper disappointment. He had to concede that friendship was the highest regard in which she could hold him, and to label himself as her ‘friend’ seemed even more dubious than the possibility of her companionship.

The carriage was pulling away from the church when he sighed to himself once again, watching it slowly roll its way down the street.

 _It is done_.

* * *

“We must thank you once more, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Gardiner said to the gentleman before he and his wife stowed away into their waiting carriage. “I know not how to-“

“Reimbursement is unnecessary, Mr. Gardiner,” Mr. Darcy assured him not for the first time, “both in currency and favors. I have said before; the responsibility must be mine.” Mr. Gardiner went on as if to press his argument, but before anything could be said, Mr. Darcy held up his hand to halt him and said with finality, “Please, sir. I will have it no other way.” Mr. Gardiner nodded with understanding, released himself from his wife’s side, and turned to attend to the carriage. Mrs. Gardiner maintained her gaze upon the young, solemn gentleman before her.

“I know that all has been said,” she began, “and I know your position on the matter will not be swayed, but I must thank you myself. There are -” here she hesitated to continue, and Darcy waited patiently for her to speak again. As if gathering her courage, Mrs. Gardiner inhaled deeply, and pulling her shoulders back, she said, “I know there are others who would regret they could not offer their particular gratitude, and so I speak not only for myself, but for them.” Mr. Darcy’s heart could not bear it. He knew of whom the lady spoke, of the sentiments that particular person would wish to relay, but he would not allow himself to dwell on those thoughts until he was in the comfort of his own solitude. He knew she meant well, and as the Gardiners departed, he could not help but think to himself the similarities between aunt and niece. He could almost laugh at himself, being so transparent that Mrs. Gardiner could not help but see how he pined, how although he did wish to do everyone right, all efforts to recover Lydia Bennet could only have been for that one person who’s wishes Mrs. Gardiner was determined to represent. Before his thoughts were reeling once more, he moved to his carriage and promptly forced himself to focus on moving forward.

* * *

Darcy retreated to his London home with every intention of stowing himself away in his study for what was left of the day. The anguish that constricted his chest was all too familiar: the mere sight of Wickham, his hateful likeness refusing to fade away from his mind’s eye, inspired within him a hatred he knew was unbecoming of a gentleman. He felt that hatred flare within his breast all the same. After all the strife Wickham had caused, Darcy had never allowed the loathing to fully consume him. However, for one night, he would succumb.

Dropping heavily into his easy chair, he closed his eyes and brought his hand to his brow, pressing lightly to alleviate the ache just under his fingers. Exhaustion was getting the better of him; it was the only explanation to the ceaseless darkening of his thoughts. Over and over, the most detestable recollections of the last week forced themselves to the forefront of his mind, and with every recollection, the ache behind his brow raged in protest. But time and time again, he paused as he pursued this line of thought, and wondered incredulously that it could only have been divine forces that brought Wickham’s regiment to Meryton. Of course, being a man of his character, Wickham could not resist his wild nature wherever he was. Young Lydia Bennet, having thrown herself in his way and parading herself as she was known to do; she was the perfect willing participant Wickham hardly need ask for. The headache persisting, he resigned himself to a glass of wine before stalking to the window.

He looked upward, wishing he were under Pemberley’s skies, strolling through the fragrant gardens. If they had not been torn apart that lovely morning, perhaps he would be retracing the path he had taken with Elizabeth as he waited anxiously for their next meeting. There was another matter to attend to while in London, but once that concluded, he would away to his sanctuary. He was conflicted with the vision of Elizabeth gracing his grounds; the memory compounded his grief, yet he felt he should be grateful. If he were never to see her again, at least he had seen her once in his home. There was some consolation in having succeeded in proving himself amiable. She had never looked at him the way she had that night, and when she squeezed his hand as he handed her into the Gardiners’ carriage, he knew that perhaps there had been a chance of winning her affection after all.

He had been wrong before, and he wouldn’t allow himself to hope unless he was sure, absolutely sure, that there was something… _But there was something_ , a voice whispered to him. _There was something that wasn’t there before._ He didn’t have the strength on this night to force himself to see reason. The fantasy of her love and the hopes of possessing it were too much to resist. He swilled two glasses of wine, closed the curtains and retired to his chambers. He preferred to dwell on his imaginings in bed and fall asleep with the image of her in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

Darcy could not bring himself to look her in the eye. Had he not leapt at the opportunity to see her again just the day before? He had no intentions of attempting to renewing himself. He had not even entertained the unlikelihood of conversing with her at all, but when Bingley had insisted Darcy accompany him to Hertfordshire, Darcy had assented before he could stop himself. There was justification in going to Hertfordshire with an invitation, and the circumstances being that he would be lodging at the neighboring estate to Longbourn, he would be expected to make calls with Bingley. Just an hour before, he delighted in the prospect of seeing her bewitching eyes once more. Now, he determinedly fought every urge to glance at her, for upon entering the room, an onslaught of emotion washed over him and he had concluded within a moment that if he looked her in the eye, he would undo all efforts employed in the attempt to let her go.

Out of the corner of his eye, he knew Elizabeth was watching him. Her visage, he could not quite make out. He needed only to shift his gaze slightly to see her clearly, but he would not feed that curiosity. It burned in his throat, constricted his chest, but giving in would be worse in the end.

_You know it would be so._

_Perhaps just one glance…_

_Do not be a fool!_

He turned and retreated to the window; Mrs. Bennet’s full attention being on Bingley allowed him to do so without scrutiny. He had meant to move away as a means of escaping temptation, but he should have known better - Elizabeth’s reflection could be seen in the window in front of him. It was not clear, offering only a taste of what her true likeness would be, though it was enough to arrest him.

His eyes were transfixed on her fidgeting hands, remembering the gentle touch of her fingers, the unmistakeable pressure she imprinted on his own. She was in some obvious discomfort, most likely due to his unexpected presence. But was she anxious to have him near, or anxious to be rid of him? Though he would not be surprised if she wished him away, their short time spent at Pemberley gave him reason to doubt those were her sentiments. Indeed, her face was turned toward him, but what would he say were he given the opportunity to truly speak with her? He would be unable to help himself.

_I must tell you, as I should have last spring, how precious you are to me._

_I thanked God for sending you to Derbyshire and blessing me with your company once more._

_Of all my acquaintance, no one can match your wit, your liveliness, everything that you are._

_Can you forgive me for being so contemptuous? Please forgive me…_

He had settled that he would not importune her with his feelings again, but if they spoke now, he would betray that promise. In returning her gaze, she would see his embarrassment, and he decided he would rather not see her reaction whether it bore gratitude or disgust. He could not bear either sentiment. For the present, he repressed his agitation and resolved to be satisfied to be near her again. He endured through the visit, though his stomach flipped when Bingley accepted the invitation for them both to dine with the Bennets the following evening. Darcy knew the offer would be made, how could it not? It was an intimidating prospect, but the thought came to him that perhaps, given more time in one another’s presence, he and Elizabeth may overcome this trepidation. Through his embarrassment, he still earnestly wished to be with her.

The gentlemen made their goodbyes; not once had Darcy looked at Elizabeth directly. Mounting his horse, Darcy breathed deeply the cool late September air.

* * *

Darcy was making as much progress in approaching her as he had the day before. When he and Bingley arrived, he barely glanced at her, but remembering his own chastisement when he had returned to Netherfield for having been so cowardly and childish, he allowed himself at last to look at her. When their eyes met, again her hands were fidgeting. There was something about her look that feigned indifference, but her eyes… The flame that had always burned bright diminished to an ember. There was a rigidness in her form that he had never seen. She remained in the corner of the room, serving coffee and speaking in low tones with her sister now and again, though he saw that her eyes were frequently on him. Darcy moved periodically about the room, speaking with those who spoke to him, sometimes briefly contributing to a discussion, all the while mustering up courage enough to approach Elizabeth. He did so when he had finished his coffee.

“Is your sister at Pemberley still?” In truth, he had not expected her to speak first; he had hardly decided how he would strike up conversation himself.

“Yes, she will remain there ‘till Christmas,” replied he.

“And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?” At this, Darcy could not help smiling to himself for a fleeting moment. She had not seen it, her head still down as she prepared his cup.

“Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to Scarborough these three weeks.” She did not say anything more. He could not decide if the strained look she gave him meant she wished not to speak to him any longer, or the wish to say something more. His courage waned at her lack of conversation. She would not even look at him now, insisting on keeping her gaze to the carpet. When he concluded that no further conversation would ensue, he walked away. He regretted not having said more or gently prodded her for conversation despite her lack of encouragement, though he could not deny it delighted him in the strangest way to be near her. Before, the feeling had inspired possibility. There was a warmth of anticipation that thrilled him. Now, knowing of no possible future with her, it was an intoxicating, painful pleasure.

_It must be enough to be near her, nothing more. It must be enough…_

* * *

When the gentlemen returned to Netherfield, Darcy requested he and Bingley share a drink before retiring for the night. He knew now that the time had come to right his last wrong. In truth, he was unsure of how his friend would react to his confession. Nonetheless, his repentance would be incomplete if he did not. It was not a pleasant conversation, and though he had not known what to expect, Darcy thought Bingley’s reaction true to his character.

“I… In truth, Darcy, I am astonished,” Bingley sighed after tense silence. “You mean to say that you knew she had come to London and you deliberately concealed her from me?” Darcy looked away shamefully before nodding in reply. Another disappointed sigh. “I cannot deny that I’d have expected this from my sisters, but I’d have never expected this of my most trusted friend.” When Darcy met Bingley’s eyes again, there was a coldness in them he rarely witnessed. It was not often he witnessed Bingley’s cheerful demeanor slip away.

“I am more ashamed than I can say,” Darcy trudged on. “I know now that I was entirely in the wrong, and not only have I disrespected you, I have disrespected Miss Bennet as well. I am very sorry, Bingley.” There was another pause while the gentleman considered his reply. Slowly, he began shaking his head.

“I shall only forgive you if she still cares for me,” he smirked. Darcy sighed with a small sense of relief, though he knew there would be some time before the dust settled between them.

“And even that is still too generous.”

“There is no doubt you have done me great wrong, but we are loyal friends. You came to me with the truth and your confession. I am grateful for your apology and of course you are forgiven, though I must confess, I - I need time, Darcy.” Darcy had anticipated this eventuality.

“I have arranged to leave for London in the morning. I had thought it might be best to make myself scarce.” Bingley nodded his appreciation.

“Truly, Darcy. I thank you for your confession.”

“It was the right thing to do,” was Darcy’s simple reply. He bowed his head, Bingley returned the gesture, and Darcy excused himself to retire for the night.


	8. Chapter 8

After ten days, Darcy’s routine was back in its normal way. London diverted him, the liveliness of the city was a guaranteed distraction, but he had not done much socializing and preferred to stay focused on business for the time being. Returning to Pemberley gave him something to look forward to. He had been absent too long from his sister and wished to be back in the comfort of the country before winter arrived. His days were long, most evenings spent awake in his study or the library. When he found sleep, he was still restless and woke more exhausted than the night before. However with every day, it became more and more bearable. Some nights weren’t as agonizing as others. There was comfort in knowing he had done everything in his power to right all his wrongs. He was pleased to receive a letter from Bingley announcing his engagement to Jane Bennet, and felt it an aid in easing his mind.

On the tenth night back in London, Darcy chose the library for his seclusion. He poured half of a glass of wine and after searching the room in much confusion, he found his book put away in the back of the room rather than where he had left it. Hardly having sat down before the fire, any tranquility was dissolved by raised voices echoing through the house. The door to the library opened and a footman slipped in; Darcy had heard the biting tones of his aunt unmistakably as she was no doubt ascending and he scoffed in frustration. 

“Forgive me, sir, she would not wait-”

“It is no matter,” Darcy assured the stammering footman. “You need not ask forgiveness for my aunt’s behavior. Retire for the night, she will escort herself out when she is through.” The footman bowed and escaped as Lady Catherine stormed into the room. Her face was white with rage and her eyes seemed to nearly bulge from her face. She struggled to catch her breath between exclamations, though her anger would not allow her to be silent for one moment.

“Of all the women your name could be tied to, Darcy!” She wailed. “You shall not have any association with that insolent girl if you know what is better for you!”

“Be clear, aunt,” Darcy replied with little patience. “I know not of whom you speak.” That only seemed to infuriate the lady further.

“You feign ignorance, just as Miss Bennet had; I would never have thought you to be so foolish!” Darcy froze and felt as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs, staring back at his aunt, completely taken aback.

“Miss Bennet?” He asked incredulously. “What is this about?”

“I tell you again, Darcy, do not pretend to be ignorant!”

“Ignorant of what?” He demanded. Lady Catherine was near him now, her narrow stare intent on threatening him.

“The circulating rumor that you have asked for Miss Bennet’s hand when you have been promised to _my_ daughter since your birth,” she sneered. “I could not believe you capable of such deceit - it scorns the wishes of my dear sister!” Darcy sighed in exasperation.

“You have been to see Miss Bennet?”

“I have!”

“Then surely she has disproved any rumors of an understanding between us.”

“Indeed, she denied the gossip with such reluctance and paid me no respect! The impertinence of that girl, refusing to oblige me!” Lady Catherine began to move agitatedly about the room and as her temper mounted, she trembled with anger. Her exclamation that Elizabeth would not oblige her perplexed Darcy. If his aunt had desired Elizabeth’s contradiction, obviously she would have received the answer she was looking for.

“The rumors were contradicted, she obliged what you asked of her.”

“Though she is determined to have you and your fortune!” His aunt refuted. At this, Darcy gave a wry grin. _If only Lady Catherine knew…_ “Miss Bennet said herself that your wife would have extraordinary sources of happiness attached to her situation when I insisted she would _not_ be accepted in our society.” Though his aunt believed Elizabeth had referenced his fortune, Darcy knew she would not connect happiness with money; but he dare not fall into that tantalizing train of thought. “She denied me an answer when I inquired if you had made an offer to her,” Lady Catherine continued with a scowl, “and when I demanded she promise never to enter into an engagement with you, she refused and dismissed me with the utmost disrespect I have ever -”

“What did you say?” Darcy halted her.

“I shall not be interrupted, nephew!” Lady Catherine stamped her cane in aggravation. Darcy ignored her tantrum.

“She would not promise to refuse me?” His heart dropped. Just as he was beginning to let go, that taunting pang of hope flamed in his chest. Though she behaved with the utmost civility, Elizabeth was uncommonly direct. Darcy knew her well enough to know she would speak her mind whether or not it pleased others, and it would be nothing to her to accept such a promise if she truly was decided against him. After all, she had not hesitated to upbraid him to his face…

In a moment, his mind was racing. His aunt’s wails and complaints were drowned out as he organized his thoughts, making preparations to depart for Hertfordshire his only focus.

“Are you hearing me, Darcy? I demand the truth!” Lady Catherine’s voice had finally reached him. With a private smile, he turned back to his chair to reach for his untouched wine and swallowed the contents.

“As I said before, Lady Catherine; the rumors have been contradicted. You have confirmed the falsehood. There is nothing for me to say.” He began to move toward the door. “It grows quite late, aunt. I shall be retiring soon.” Lady Catherine huffed at such a dismissal; even so, she followed him. She made a point of warning him that she had yet to be satisfied and that on the morrow, she would know all. Darcy indulged her, nodding and giving her assurances - of which he would not follow through - to entertain her at a more reasonable and convenient hour. Though she continued to reiterate her complaints, Darcy remained deaf to her piercing tones, retreating back up the stairs even as she went on.

He strode directly to his study; the first priority was hastily writing out express notes to be sent out the next morning, one going to Bingley. Darcy was sure that after securing Miss Bennet’s hand, his friend would feel more inclined to allow him to return to Netherfield. All business could be dealt with through post, that was no question. He would take this last risk, this one last instinct that insisted: _Her answer to Lady Catherine’s demand is incentive enough to seek her out_. There was no debate; go or lose what could be his last chance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening:  
> The Lark Ascending - Ralph Vaughan Williams  
> This piece, to me, is the embodiment of Elizabeth Bennet - the emotions she goes through in the book, the lessons she learns, the blossoming relationship between her and Mr. Darcy.

“Darcy, are you quite well?” Bingley asked as they rode side by side. “You seem a little more pensive than usual.” It was said in some jest, though Darcy knew it had some validity. He had not slept one blink, the ache of anticipation was too great to tame. Nonetheless, he began the day alert and determined - his focus was Elizabeth, how soon he could speak with her, and how he would approach her with every intent of being as direct with her as she had been with him. Breakfast had hardly finished when Bingley declared it a beautiful day and suggested at once that they ride to Longbourn.

“I confess I passed a sleepless night,” Darcy replied to his friend, “though I assure you I am well.” Bingley was smiling - that grin had been plastered on his face since they met at breakfast. Darcy conjectured he had not stopped smiling since Miss Bennet’s acceptance.

“Some fresh air will do you some good,” Bingley recommended. “It would be a shame not to walk with the ladies in such perfect weather.” Darcy only nodded; they had reached Longbourn’s drive. As they neared the house, he could not help his eyes straying to the windows. He swallowed hard, suppressing the underlying dread that suggested doubt. There was no room for doubt today, no time for hesitancy. He would not rob himself of this opportunity. The gentlemen’s horses were attended as they approached and descended. Removing their hats and gloves upon entering the house, they were brought directly to the sitting room where the five Bennet ladies sat.

As Darcy straightened from his bow, he watched as Elizabeth looked up, the sun shining through the window behind her, engulfing her in its rays. She met his gaze directly and he could see that her eyes had regained their fire; whatever sense of anxiety he had sensed in their last encounters had vanished. All that followed the gentlemen’s entrance was lost on him and his attention was only brought to the rest of the room when Bingley suggested they all walk out.

It was Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, and Miss Kitty who joined the gentlemen in the end and they left the room to retrieve their outerwear. Bingley’s aim in recommending their walk was, of course, to be alone with Miss Bennet, which left Miss Kitty to possibly prevent any opportunity for Darcy to confront Elizabeth. He resolved that if the right moment was not meant for that day, he would return every day until he gained the opportunity.

They started down the road and as expected, Bingley and Miss Bennet fell further and further behind, making their way quite leisurely as the other three continued ahead. They were deathly silent, Darcy’s mind whirling at Elizabeth’s proximity. He was desperately frustrated with Miss Kitty’s presence, though the poor girl could not help having no excuse not to accept Bingley’s general invitation. He would not let the prevention interfere with determining his approach. However, they had not been long walking before Miss Kitty had asked - to Darcy’s utter delight - if they might walk toward the Lucases to call on Miss Maria. Elizabeth replied that she felt no concern to make a call, but encouraged her sister to do so.

When they came upon the split in the lane, Miss Kitty eagerly scampered away from Darcy and Elizabeth, leaving them to the privacy he had waited so patiently for. He looked behind them to find that Bingley and Miss Bennet had taken a different path, and turning back to Elizabeth with his resolution on the tip of his tongue, the long-last atonement to his burning anticipation finally upon him -

“Mr. Darcy,” she started suddenly. “I am a very selfish creature. I can no longer help thanking you for your kindness to my sister. Ever since I have known of it, I have been most anxious to tell you how grateful I am. Were it known to the rest of my family, they would offer their gratitude as well.” Darcy’s heart sank. It was exactly what he had wished to prevent. She did not owe him any gratitude, he did not wish for it; what he had done, he did to make right and to ensure her family suffered no degradation at his hands.

“I am sorry you heard of it,” he said with some surprise. “I had not thought Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted.”

“You must not blame my aunt.” That slight wringing of her hands. “It was Lydia’s thoughtlessness that betrayed your involvement. Naturally, I could not rest until I knew all the particulars. I must thank you again, sir, on behalf of my family for your having taken so much trouble -“

“If you _will_ thank me,” he stopped her, “let it be for yourself alone. As much as I respect your family, I believe I only thought of you.” Elizabeth blushed furiously as she looked away. Darcy caught her chin with the lightest touch of his fingers and bade she look at him. His boldness startled them both, nonetheless, he added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. _My_ affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.” It came from his heart, begging and pleading for mercy, calling out to her in desperation, _Take me or reject me, just release me from this. Look me in the eye and release me._

“No, do not be silent,” she rushed, not quite able to meet his eyes. Darcy was struck by this response. “Mr. Darcy, I - I cannot express how ashamed I am of what I said then - to have treated you so abominably, and that you should love me still… You must know - I _must_ tell you how ardently I love you in return.” She sighed, tears of joy filling her eyes and her shoulders trembling with light laughter. There were no words to express the depth of emotion Darcy felt in that moment.

So moved was he that he took her hands in his and leaning in, he asked passionately, “Truly, Elizabeth?” She could only nod with gentle vehemence, still shaking with joy. Happiness washed over him like the burning warmth of summer sunlight, paired with cooling relief, bathing him in the balm of her declaration. He joined her in laughter.

“I do not believe I have ever felt such happiness,” Darcy professed, “and I shall endeavor to remain deserving of you, for you are more dear to me than I could have imagined.” They stood quite close together, and though Elizabeth was still unable meet his eye, she held his hands with firm assurance as intermittent tears streamed down her cheeks. Darcy wiped one away, the sweep of his thumb soft against her skin. He had longed to caress that very cheek, to hear those beautiful words fall tenderly from her lips. Months of tormented days and nights were atoned in true form before him; he had never felt so free. At long last, she looked up at him and she slowly lifted her hand to cover his as he cradled her face.

Darcy knew not how long they stood in that manner, Elizabeth’s cheek resting in his palm, his head bent close to her’s. It was some time before they turned - still beaming - to continue down the road, Darcy wrapping her arm around his own. Elizabeth had started to tell him of Lady Catherine’s meeting with her, and he confirmed the lady had visited him on her way through London. He explained how Lady Catherine had done the opposite of what she had intended and gave him reason to hope more than he ever had.

“I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that had you been absolutely decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.” She blushed with a chuckle.

“Yes you know enough of my _frankness_ to believe me capable of _that_.” Elizabeth was teasing him bashfully.

Darcy insisted that she had said nothing of him that he did not deserve, that her words humbled and tortured him. They spoke of his letter (she accepted his wish that she destroy it), and she admitted that her prejudices had fallen away gradually after reading it. He continued to explain his embarrassment of the letter and the bitterness in which he felt it expressed, though he knew she had taught him the most valuable of lessons. In his admiration, he declared her “dearest, loveliest Elizabeth” and he watched her effusive blush deepen. How wonderful it was to address her so openly!

They were talking of their meeting at Pemberley when they both considered to check their watches, having walked some miles in no particular direction, and upon seeing the hour, they decided they had better hurry back to Longbourn. Approaching the house, their arms fell to their sides, both regretting the end of their solitude. Darcy briefly took her hand as they entered the hall, his thumb smoothing over her skin, and with one last look of adoration, they parted.

* * *

The following evening, Darcy had followed Mr. Bennet shortly after the latter had retired to his library. Mr. Bennet had answered Darcy’s knock with a nonchalant, “Come in,” and looked rather puzzled. He had no reason to suspect that Darcy would seek him out.

“Excuse my intrusion, Mr. Bennet,” Darcy began. “I had hoped for the opportunity to speak with you this evening.”

“Mr. Darcy, what an unexpected surprise,” Mr. Bennet’s smile was genial enough as he gestured to the chair in front of his desk, inviting Darcy to sit. As he took his seat, Mr. Bennet subjoined with curiosity, “How might I be of service to you, sir?” Darcy supposed it best to proceed directly, as Mr. Bennet’s disposition was similar to that of Elizabeth’s.

“Mr. Bennet, I have offered my hand in marriage to Miss Elizabeth, and she has honored me with her acceptance.” The old man stared back at Darcy, his expression frozen with his eyes wide. He was certainly taken by surprise. He had been holding his place in his book, but had abandoned it, placing it on his desk before him. Darcy knew his address was completely unexpected. “I humbly ask you now for your consent of the match.” There were some moments of silence before Mr. Bennet ventured to speak.

“You have offered your hand to Elizabeth?”

“Yes, sir.” A pause.

“And… she has accepted you?”

“Yes, sir.” Mr. Bennet now looked truly perplexed. Darcy began to feel a creeping sense of unease as Mr. Bennet stared at him incredulously without saying a word.

Erelong, the gentleman replied, “I confess, this is unexpected. I had not known there was an attachment…” Here was a response Darcy _had_ expected. He watched as Mr. Bennet digested his request, looked away in some confusion and became quite distant. No doubt, his mind was full of questions, not to mention the disappointment that came with facing the relinquishment of a favorite child.

“Mr. Bennet, it has been some time that I have esteemed Miss Elizabeth as one of the best women I have ever known,” Darcy assured him. “I can only wish to be as good a husband to her as she deserves; that is, of course, if we are given your consent to marry.” At this, Mr. Bennet met Darcy’s eye once more. There was some semblance of realization in his look as he brought his full attention to the gentleman seated before him. Perhaps there was no true reason Darcy should believe he would be refused, though his anxieties raged all the same. He was sure his heart could be heard pounding in the near unbearable silence. He did not wish to accost Mr. Bennet with a further description of his affections for Elizabeth; the poor man seemed overwhelmed as it was.

As if coming to his senses, Mr. Bennet gave a slight shake of the head, and replied,“If my daughter has indeed accepted you, then you have my consent, Mr. Darcy.” In truth, Darcy had expected more of an interrogation considering the extended contemplative and dubious silence; but Mr. Bennet stood, reaching his hand out over the desk, and Darcy took it in a firm shake.

“Thank you, sir,” Darcy said, his exhilaration rushing through him. Mr. Bennet nodded in acknowledgment, and requested that he send Elizabeth in when he returned to the drawing room.

His love looked up from her work when he re-entered, and the traces of distress that she had held in her features eased somewhat at seeing his easy smile. He indulged himself, watching her from one side of the room for some minutes before he moved near her. He bent over her shoulder, pretending to admire her work, and whispered, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.” She stood immediately, and only having met his gaze for a moment, went away.

Though he appeared as he ever did with the others, Darcy resumed his previous seat feeling his exultation as keenly as he had when Elizabeth accepted him the day before. He could not recall being at peace and simultaneously agitated as he did now. It felt wonderful. The swoop in his chest likened the feeling of his horse leaping at a gallop, the adrenaline of flight rushing through him in a fleeting moment. Receiving Elizabeth’s hand, knowing she loved him in return, and now having her father’s consent was enough for that rush to overtake him again and again. As he waited for her to return, her words were a soothing mantra in his thoughts.

_Do not be silent… I must tell you how ardently I love you in return._

Elizabeth had not often met his eye that evening, but her finger toyed with the edges of her needlework. Darcy noticed when she had not sewed for quite some time and subdued a grin knowing the source of her distraction. He suspected that she felt some degree of embarrassment as they sat with her family. It was still fresh (her blush had reasserted itself with every glance at him) and Darcy knew she was only worrying over anxieties regarding her father.

In the course of the evening, he had to reassure himself twice over that it was all true. The memory was shrouded in such a beautiful haze, it seemed very much like a dream. The sky perfectly blue, a gentle breeze, the smell of Hertfordshire, and Elizabeth; smiling and laughing, her arm curling tighter around his as they wandered. Her cheek had been so soft, chilled and flushed pink by the autumn air. He had been so close to her, but had he been closer, he might have felt her breath against his face, her whispered words caressing him. As the evening drew nearer to a close and Elizabeth returned with a look of relief, he dreaded leaving her. It was achingly intolerable to think of leaving her, even knowing full well that he would be returning to Longbourn the next day. Nothing prevented him calling every day if he pleased, now that their engagement was approved. A chill ran down his spine.

Engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

_I must tell you how ardently I love you in return._

When the time came to make their goodbyes, he looked directly to his love with as much tenderness as he could portray in his eyes. The corners of her mouth twitched and he knew she understood. Though her expression would not betray it, he had no doubts in her look of confidence, the candlelight flickering in her eyes. Darcy only regretted being unable to give her the goodbye he wished to.


	10. Chapter 10

An autumn storm blew in shortly after Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley arrived at Longbourn. Elizabeth, standing next to Darcy at one of the windows in the drawing room, had suggested they withdraw to the library in lieu of their customary walk. They had joined Mr. Bennet in the library on other occasions, and the gentleman always welcomed them gladly into his sanctuary. Darcy supposed it gave him the convenience of observing his favorite daughter with her fiancé without leaving the comfort of his favorite chair (which he often had no mind to do). On this day, the way of things was no different; they sat cordially with Mr. Bennet, each absorbed in their own chosen literature - at least, Darcy attempted to maintain his attention.   


Elizabeth sat serenely in the chair adjacent to him. He watched her from the corner of his eye, sometimes his gaze strayed from the pages of his book when he could no longer restrain himself from stealing a glance. It did not go unnoticed by Mr. Bennet, and sometimes Darcy thought the gentleman chuckled to himself under his breath. Being one to find amusement where he could, it was clear Mr. Bennet found entertainment in seeing his daughter in love, for she would often steal her own glances and blush with a knowing smile when she was caught.

A knock interrupted their solitude, and Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, entered. She asserted that Mr. Bennet’s presence was wanted directly, as the stables were taking on water damage due to the storm. Darcy looked away from his reading to find that Mr. Bennet had looked to him, then to Elizabeth, and with a shameless grin, he obliged to follow Mrs. Hill to the back of the house. It was only a few moments after Mr. Bennet had quit the room before Darcy lowered his book and let his gaze rest where it had strayed.

“It seems you have ultimately decided to abandon your book after all, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth quipped, her eyes unmoved from the pages before her. Darcy was growing used to her teasing after being in her company daily for a fortnight. Now more than ever, he found it one of the most endearing things about her.

“I confess I am quite diverted,” was his reply. Elizabeth was grinning as she turned a page.

“Could it be the storm that disturbs you? It is quite distracting.” He could tell by her expression that she was rather pleased with herself, that flash of mischief in her eye inviting him to play along. The rain had been lapping heavily against the windows, and were he at home in London or at Pemberley, he would have found it an aid to his reading. Today, nothing would have aided him, even if he had wanted to read.

“I had thought reading brought you much pleasure,” Elizabeth subjoined erelong.

“Indeed, and yet for the present, it has become rather tedious.” Here, she met his gaze. When they were alone in this way, he thought she could read him as easily as if he were speaking his thoughts aloud. One look would enthrall him, and he was pleasantly reminded that his attachment was reciprocated.

“Then, I suppose it is nonsensical to feign interest,” Elizabeth said, snapping her book shut, and she stood to return it to its place on one of the shelves. She was conscious of Darcy’s eyes following her; just as much as Darcy had grown accustomed to her teasing, Elizabeth had grown accustomed to his penetrating stare. Not for the first time, Darcy thought of how ignorant he was to Elizabeth’s complete indifference a year before. Now, to see her so evidently in love, he felt his soul soar; it was for _him_ , and him alone that she looked in that way. She turned and remained by the bookcase, looking toward the windows and sighing softly.

“What are you thinking, my dear?” Darcy murmured, softly calling to her. It was one of the endearments he had adopted gradually in their most recent days together. It pleased him to learn which addresses most affected her. Her smile reached her eyes as she looked down, and shyly bit her bottom lip.

“In truth, I am considering how varied the library at Pemberley seemed to be,” said she, “though I think if I am to make any progress, it will not be for some time.”

“What would impede you in your endeavor?”

“Well,” she began moving slowly about the room, her lips pursed, “for one, the extensive grounds. I intend to explore every acre of the park, and if I am to do so before winter settles, then I’m afraid an exploration of the library will have to be put off.” Darcy stood and joined her when she reached the window at the far end of the room. “For another, I am sure I shall be principally engaged with assimilating into my new situation.” She paused, a slight betrayal of uncertainly in that smile. “There is much I will need to learn.”

“And you shall have your husband to assist you, should you desire it.” Elizabeth’s hand found his.

“I would be grateful for it.”

“Then,” Darcy murmured, “I promise I shall be at your side.”

He watched her as she raised their entwined fingers, resting his palm against her cheek. She sighed, closing her eyes with a contented smile, and then she recited in almost a whisper, “ _I was yours before I knew, and you have always been mine, too_.”*

Their heads were drawn together, resting softly, one against the other. Darcy closed his eyes and felt that moment mark his memory; the sound of the rain, every soft breath, the warmth of her cheek in his hand. This was the promise of their lives before them. It consumed him, this quiet haven that had enveloped them, and it felt as natural as living. He had hardly hesitated as he moved to hold her, his touch unhurried and questioning. She sighed into him, resting her fingers delicately on his chest in answer.

“Always.”

When he next looked into her eyes, they struck him as they often did - their depth, their meaningful shine - her serene smile soothing him. He promised inwardly that he would ask her to read to him and let her lull him into this dreamlike feeling every evening, to feel such tender comfort in this nearness. He saw her embracing him in dim candlelight, waking every morning beside him, the light casting a soft aura around her as they whispered to each other.

“I would stay with you thus ‘till evening,” Elizabeth whispered.

“As would I.” In truth, he would stand with her in that way for the entirety of the fortnight that remained until they wed. “Are you happy, Elizabeth?”

“I believe I could not be more so. Are you happy?” A simple answer would not do. To say he was happy would do no justice to his feelings. She was his happiness, his hope, his heart. What he could not say in words, he said with the gentle touch of his lips. He could not have stopped himself if he had wanted to, not when she looked at him so adoringly, held in his arms. This first kiss shared was tentative, subtle, though nonetheless tender, and soon she had reached slowly to hold him closer, her hands framing his face.

There was a rush through him, his head swimming, his senses overwhelmed. Most unwillingly, he broke from her lips before he became completely senseless to the world around them. He would cease now for fear he would not at all. Elizabeth looked up at him with half hooded eyes, her fingers moving lightly over his skin.

“You have proven me wrong, Fitzwilliam,” she laughed. She traced the curve of his answering smile.

He entreated her to read to him, for it would not do for them to be found in that way. He let her leave his arms with great reluctance, but she returned to the bookshelf for a selection of poems. Not long after they had settled back into their respective chairs had Mr. Bennet returned, and Darcy observed Elizabeth flush pink upon her father’s entrance. It was with great eagerness that Darcy contemplated when he might hold her again, though it would not be long, he assured himself, before he would have the pleasure of keeping her near as long as he wished. There would be no other bliss to compare with her as his wife.

* * *

* Always - Lord Byron


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening:  
> Suite bergamasque, L. 75: 1. Prelude - Claude Debussy

It had only taken that one kiss. Darcy felt as if the storm had moved within him, taking the wild winds of the country side and trapping them in his breast. With renewed vigor, Darcy was acutely aware of how human he was. Of course he had always wanted her, there was no question of _that_ , but this… He lay sleepless and unnerved. As the storm over Hertfordshire had calmed, he grew ever more restless. That kiss had been so gentle, so innocent, so polite and respectful, and alarmingly, it was not enough. Perhaps, because he had accepted up until his return to Hertfordshire that he would never obtain her heart, his basest desires remained subdued. There was nothing that tamed his passions now.

Her eyes, the lightest touch of her fingers, her short breath the moment before his lips touched her’s - it replayed over and over. She could not know the tumult of his sensibilities, the rapid, restless thrashing of his heart, this decidedly _insatiable_ hunger that now besot him. It was no use grasping at sleep, for it would not come - Darcy rose. He thought wryly that he might never sleep soundly again with her in his life. She affected him too much. He was quite nearly overcome just being so _near_ her. He prided his self-discipline, for he had never been impulsive or easily swayed; but he was sure that if she asked anything of him, an entreaty from those soft, alluring lips would have him forgoing every bit of control. Come that greatly anticipated night not far into the future, he would be at her mercy as much, if not more so than she would be at his.

Did she wish to be? Did she lie helplessly awake in crippling anticipation as he did? Had he affected her enough to awaken desire within her? Oh, how he wished to _please_ her, to learn every way in which she _could_ be pleased. He did not feel discouraged from lack of practical experience. There was a tranquilizing satisfaction knowing they would learn together what they could be, though there was some anxiety to be accounted for. It was only natural for one so generally inexperienced, and for her, who was surely even less proficient than he was; she _must_ be overcome with nerves at the prospect. But then again, _was_ she anticipating that element of their union? Did she crave what he craved?

He imagined what it might be like if she did. Elizabeth, standing before him in his rooms at Pemberley with her tresses loose about her shoulders, her figure wrapped in a soft dressing gown, her arms inviting him into her embrace. She would whisper that she loved him, that she wanted him. Her hands would caress his arms, the breadth of his chest; she would twine her fingers through his hair, she would press her lips to his throat. He, in turn, would trace the sweet curve of her waist, her hips, hold her fast to him. They would share fierce kisses, each seeking to taste more of the other, and he would assure her with every touch how wholly he considered her a part of himself.

Darcy had never allowed these imaginings to venture thus far. He had always repressed the burning temptation to indulge those dreams… These thoughts, hitherto forbidden, now surfaced with a vengeance. It was unbearable, yet not so. He only felt it was after so many months of denial, that she would never be what he wished her to be. And now, she had _promised_ to be with him. She reminded him every day that to be loved by him made her happy. He would vow to worship her, body and soul, in a mere two weeks. She would in return. It would be the declaration of their spirits, the promise kept by their flesh. _Good God, I shall drive myself into madness,_ he thought. It was only in smallest hours of the morning that he found rest, soon to be interrupted by the rising sun.

* * *

Perhaps he should have insisted they stay within the grounds of the house, but when Elizabeth intimated her relief that the weather had calmed and that she wished to walk in the direction of Oakham Mount, Darcy complied. He would not suspend her pleasure for anything, regardless of how guilty he feltin stealing her away all for himself. As it happened, they were limited to the immediate miles around Longbourn, for the mud forbade them going very far once they neared the Mount; however, they were undeterred and meandered about the paths that had more or less dried.

It had become a sort of routine to ask one another how they spent their morning. Elizabeth told him of the letter she had received from her Aunt Gardiner at breakfast and relayed the lady’s greetings to him. Darcy joked, albeit good-naturedly, about Mr. Bingley’s sour mood for not having been able to join him in coming to Longbourn that day. Bingley was expecting his sisters and brother-in-law to arrive some time mid-day. Elizabeth chaffed that perhaps Darcy had come so early to Longbourn because he wished to be sufficiently clear of Netherfield before a certain lady arrived. Though that wasn’t the reason for his early arrival, he did not deny it.

Darcy had come to Longbourn’s door so early because he could not stand being still. Even being without much sleep, he could have forgone his horse and ran the two miles from Netherfield in order to expel his excess energy. He was still thinking of their moment in the library and his musings the night before. He wished to satisfy his insistent curiosity, and he likewise wished to be open with her, to speak freely about anything and everything. So engrossed in his thoughts was he that he had not said as much as a word to Elizabeth in quite some time.

“Fitzwilliam?” She suddenly halted them, breaking his reverie, and stood before him.

“Pardon?”

“I asked if you have had a letter from your cousin. You mentioned yesterday you were expecting his correspondence.”

“Oh,” Darcy replied noncommittally. “No, not yet.” Elizabeth looked over him inquisitively.

“Are you well, Fitzwilliam? You seem somewhere far off, and you were flushed a moment ago, but now you’ve gone quite pale.” She would not be convinced if he replied that he was perfectly well. His obvious preoccupation was clear in his features and she was not easily dissuaded.

“Forgive my inattention, Elizabeth,” he said presently. “I’ve let my thoughts run away with me.” She seemed skeptical, for he would not quite meet her gaze and she was actively attempting to catch his eye. They had resumed their walk after some moments of her scrutiny, and they had not gone far before she turned to him again.

“You’re embarrassed.” The certainty in her statement took Darcy by surprise.

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes, you’ve only looked this way after -” Elizabeth broke off abruptly, beginning again, “well, I can see that you are, though I cannot fathom why.”

“I am not so much embarrassed as I am…” She was not wrong; she had found him out with little trouble. What could he say? How could he begin? He thought of that one day not long after their engagement, when she had asked that very question - _How can you account for having fallen in love with me? How could you begin?_ He would start by turning the inquiry upon her. “Elizabeth, when did you begin to feel you might love me? You have said that your feelings came on gradually after you had read my letter, but I wonder if there was a moment of realization. Can you recall the first time you thought you might be falling in love?” It was her turn to be embarrassed, flushing and immediately going pale as Darcy had. She looked as she had that night Darcy had dined at Longbourn with Bingley almost a month since.

“I had thought of you sometimes after Kent, probably more often than I would have liked or cared to admit,” she said. “Then, meeting you at Pemberley, we were so easy in each other’s company, much more so than we had ever been, and I was thoroughly disappointed to have left so abruptly. I thought I had no right to think we should ever see each other again, and it was not long after I returned home that I began to think you were exactly the man who would suit me. I foolishly imagined the unlikely renewal of your addresses, had I stayed one more day at Lampton, and I settled inwardly that I would have been very near accepting you. It felt as if we had started anew, that we had truly begun to understand each other, and I liked it exceedingly. I was worried for my sister, but I resented that my time in Derbyshire was cut short. I wanted -”

Elizabeth was suddenly clutching to Darcy’s sleeve, stifling a yelp as her foot slipped out from underneath her in a patch of mud they had neglected to notice. Darcy reflexively seized her in his arms, nearly falling over himself as he caught her. She was laughing heartily while they regained their footing, not letting go where she had sought purchase.

“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam,” she cried between stuttering breaths, trying to control her laughter. “Oh, I’ve gotten us both into the mud!”

He would have helped to steady her and let her put herself to rights, he would have entreated her to continue her anecdote and carry on down the path; but seeing her face lit as it was, her eyes dancing with giddiness, his recent turmoil had wound him up so tightly as to make that tension within him snap the very moment he held her fiercely. Seduced by the adrenaline of the moment, his lips had descended upon her’s almost instantly. His touch was a far cry from the questioning caresses of the day before. Now, his lips demanded that she respond in kind, seeking relief from this incessant need within him.

Elizabeth was still only an instant before her arms wrapped around him and she met his kiss with an eagerness he had hoped for; her laughter faded quickly away. Darcy trailed his hands roughly over her back, pulling her ever closer. Their labored breaths mingled as they sought kiss after kiss. She was his living water, reviving him, nourishing him when he had been so withered and destitute. He felt how she clung to him, how she shaped her lips naturally to his, how she had begun to stand on her toes in her avidity to match him as he held her tighter still. It was her soft whimper that brought him to wrench himself from their kiss, pressing his cheek to her cheek.

“I would have,” he murmured. “I would have renewed myself the morning you went away. I could not endure it, I could not -” She met his lips again softly, reassuring and unhurried, a promise of their agonies being left behind. “My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth…” He watched as she smiled bashfully with a sigh.

“Do you promise to always call me thus?”

“I do.” Elizabeth let her hand drift from around his shoulders to rest over his heart. The way she looked up at him, her expression so open and achingly sweet, he’d promise her whatever she asked.

“I could not have thought it possible,” she said, almost as soft as a whisper. “What I feel, it is constant, unrelenting. It is - it is-”

“All consuming?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she replied emphatically. “It is enough that I feel agitated to be separated from you, and I often chide myself for waxing dramatic.” Darcy chuckled, trailing a finger delicately along her jaw.

“You are passionate, do not rebuke yourself being so. There is a selfish satisfaction in knowing that you ache as I do when we part every evening, but tell me, Lizzy; I wish to know. Do you _burn_ for me as I burn for you?” At the last, she let out a shuddering breath.

“I believe I must. I am pulled to you as if by nature, and I cannot help but think…” They were silent once more, and they needed no more than to look into one another’s eyes to know that both were enthralled by their gravity, the raw energy between them. Elizabeth continued, “We must always be open with one another, Fitzwilliam. In all matters, of course, but in _this_ matter especially. You have said yourself that I am passionate, and I do not wish to be passive and self-denying, not with you.”

“I would not wish you to be,” Darcy gently assured her. She was lifting herself up, her face up-turned to his and he met her lips once more in a slow, lingering kiss.

There were many whispered tentative desires shared as they continued their walk, their heads bent toward one another. Growing accustomed to this new kind of intimacy, she shyly admitted to thinking of him when she was alone in much the same way that he thought of her. Did it surprise him, she asked, and though he had questioned just the night before how she thought of him, he found that he could have expected nothing less of her. They remained quite near each other when they returned to Longbourn that afternoon. Though conscious of their company, they allowed themselves small, tantalizing intimacies; a single touch of his fingers on her’s under the table at supper, sitting close together in the drawing room as they discussed their books in hushed tones. They stole a kiss in the hall when Elizabeth saw him to the door, and she whispered reverently that she wished for nothing more than for the day of their union to arrive.

It went without saying that Darcy passed yet another sleepless night.


End file.
